Of Monsters and Men
by Jess189
Summary: Loki has taken the throne and rules Asgard, his brother none the wiser. Yet something is very wrong with the God of Mischief, something he finds harder and harder to ignore with each passing day. Finding himself powerless to face an unknown enemy threatening the very existence of his realm, Loki must swallow his pride and visit the last people he ever wanted to ask for help.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **First new fanfiction in quite a while. I've been playing around with an idea for an Avenger's fic but couldn't get the plot hammered down (haha, hammered. Get it?). I think I've finally come up with something that doesn't sound completely off the wall :)

This is set after Thor: The Dark World. There won't be any romantic themes though probably lots of feel-good bonding moments between certain characters and everyone's favorite villain. I unfortunately am not overly familiar with Thor and the Avengers outside of the movies so I don't expect the story to hold up very well in comparison with comic book canon.

Please feel free to comment with any praises, corrections, criticisms, and/or proclamations of undying love for Loki. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter One**

How had it come to this? Loki held his own emerald gaze in the mirror and seethed. Had he fallen so low that he must beg his enemies on bended knee for help? To plead for help when he found himself defenseless?

He was the king of Asgard. He did not beg. Why should he?

_And why would they ever help _you_ of all people?_ A small voice asked in the back of his mind but he violently shook his head as though to dispel the whirlwind of unanswered questions plaguing him and chasing away any chance at sleep. He had been awake for three days now, or at least he thought three sounded right. The passing time had blurred into a meaningless haze.

A knock sounded at the chamber door. "Begging your pardon, your Grace. An urgent matter has arisen."

"Damn them," Loki swore under his breath. He closed his eyes in a grimace and slowly, painfully the long black hair turned white and his face aged until Odin stood before him in the mirror looking more exhausted than he ever remembered seeing the real All-Father.

He opened the door and the guard outside bowed. "There is trouble in the dungeons, your Grace. Another prisoner has fallen ill."

"Take me to him," Loki replied, his voice deep and no longer his own. The guard bowed again and led the way. He slowed when he realized his King had fallen behind, leaning heavily on his staff for support. The guard did not comment but it angered Loki none the less to be seen as weak.

He sighed. His act was fooling no one; he _was_ weak.

They reached the dungeons and the guards bowed their heads before leading him to the prisoner. He lay on the floor outside his cell, hair matted with sweat and eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling in sheer terror. His gaze darted back and forth and he mumbled nonsense under his breath.

Kneeling beside him, Loki pressed the back of his hand to the prisoner's forehead. As expected, his skin was scalding to the touch. He stood and nodded to one of the guards. "Take him to the infirmary. Alert me of his condition in the morning."

"Yes, your Majesty." The guards gently lifted the man and whisked him away to the healers. Loki watched them go, leaning against his staff and breathing harder than he should have been from maintaining his disguise. The prisoner would likely be dead by morning. Only two of the fifteen to fall ill thus far had survived the night and neither was in their right mind when the fever finally receded. The healers had no explanation and while he hadn't voiced his thoughts aloud, Loki feared much worse was to come.

As their king, he should be doing more to help. A true king would focus all his efforts on protecting his people, as his conscious constantly reminded him. Despite what Odin and Thor no doubt thought, he did care about Asgard. He would not see it fall under his rule. It had been only a year since he had taken the throne and no one, not even his brother, had seen through his disguise. No doubt much of this he could attribute to Thor's constant time on earth with that mortal woman. As good a liar as he was, Loki didn't think he could trick his brother forever.

Returning to his chambers, he barely had time to lock the door behind him before his disguise slipped away and he slumped to the floor looking himself once more. Cradling his head in his hands he fought back the nausea that threatened and after several minutes managed to stand without fainting.

He could not go on this way. He had known this for some time but the thought of what he must do to try and save himself, to save his home, turned his stomach. Staring out the window at the moonlit grounds where he had played as a child his thoughts turned to his mother. Fighting off the tears that threatened to spill over he gritted his teeth and straightened his shoulders. No more stalling; tomorrow he would do it.

Tomorrow he would call upon the Avengers.


	2. Chapter 2

_Zing._

The arrow hit its mark, driving itself deep into the bulls-eye on the practice dummy. After a moment the target disappeared and another swung into view. Clint nocked an arrow and waited. The target moved toward him, seeming to hesitate, before suddenly looping back the way it had come along some unseen track. Barely glancing up to register its retreat, he loosed the arrow and listened to the satisfying thunk as it found its mark.

"On target as usual, Agent Barton." Director Fury appeared behind him, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the archer's progress. Five targets later and Fury waved his hand for the men to stop sending in more targets, satisfied that his Agent was still in top condition.

"I have never seen someone with an accuracy as high as yours," Fury commented. "It's a powerful weapon."

"Or a deadly one," Clint muttered, lowering his bow. The Director sighed.

"We've run the tests three times Agent Barton. Everything checks out. Mentally, emotionally, and physically you are fit to go back into the field, and the safety of my crew is not an issue I take lightly." Fury crossed his arms, studying the Archer intently for some sign as to what he was thinking.

Clint rubbed the back of his neck and stretched his sore muscles. "I can't sleep. I keep having that dream and every time I wake up covered in sweat thinking this time it's not a dream. This time it's real."

"Nightmares are not uncommon after a traumatic situation, and I dare say having a vengeful god of mayhem frolicking around your head qualifies as slightly traumatic wouldn't you agree?" Fury raised an eyebrow at him. Clint didn't answer.

"Walk with me." Not waiting for a verbal response, the Director turned on his heel and headed out of the training center at a brisk pace. Clint shouldered his bow and fell into step beside him.

"It's more than stress," he said finally once they'd left the training room and were in the hallways passing by a never ending stream of doors, most of which Clint could only guess at what lay behind them.

"Care to elaborate?" Fury asked.

Clint sighed. "It's just a feeling I have. That something's not right."

"If you need more time off," Fury replied, "then take it. We can wait. But we have several important missions on our plates right now and I don't want you falling too far out of practice."

"I understand," Clint answered.

Fury nodded and stopped in front of one of the numerous doors, identical to all the rest. "This is what I wanted to show you."

He opened the door to reveal an enormous training room outfitted with numerous bows and arrows, some identical to Hawkeye's own and others he'd never seen before. Clint had to admit his heart beat a little faster at the sight.

"What's the occasion?" He asked and Fury snorted.

"The occasion is you need to stop moping around and get your ass back in here. If this helps, then so be it. There are separate sleeping quarters located through that door if you need them."

Clint nodded and without a word, Fury left him to his thoughts.

Scanning the enormous weapons surrounding him, he fought the urge to look in the fragment of broken mirror he'd taken to carrying in his pocket. After Loki's defeat Clint had gone on about his business as though nothing had happened. A little shook up, he'd soon recovered thanks to Tasha's watchful eye, even if she wouldn't admit she'd been looking out for him. No worse than any other difficult mission he'd been on. Eventually you shook it off and moved on.

Yet now, more than a year after the battle in New York and with no sign of any impending trouble on the horizon, Clint suddenly found himself on edge. He couldn't sleep and when he did doze he felt himself caught up in the most vivid dreams he'd ever had. He was no longer himself, back under Loki's spell. He slaughtered indiscriminately, killing everyone around him both friend, foe, and stranger alike.

And Natasha. Just before his subconscious released him from the grip of his terrible nightmares, there was always Natasha smiling at him so trustingly before he drove an arrow through her heart.

He had left S.H.I.E.L.D.'s facilities for a loft apartment on the edge of the city after the second time he'd had the dream. Locked in his own private quarters, no one could hear him screaming.

When he'd broken a mirror in a half-awake, half-asleep daze swinging at non-existent enemies in the night, he'd mindlessly slipped a broken chunk into his pocket. It got harder and harder to make it through the day without pulling it out to take a good hard look into his eyes, searching for any signs of that icy blue tint that haunted his dreams. He couldn't explain it to Fury. He was no stranger to trauma or the nightmares that haunted you once you'd left the battlefield, but this was something more. No matter what he did to try and shake it, he felt a growing dread down in his very bones that something horrible was coming and he was powerless to stop it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: The chapters have been much shorter than I usually write so far. Within the next chapter or two things should begin to pick up and the chapters will get much longer now that everyone is in one place and I won't be switching back and forth as much. Enjoy!

"Traveling today, _my king?_"

Fighting back a sigh, Loki did his best to ignore Heimdall's irritating, but not exactly unexpected, sarcasm. Bound by duty to the king of Asgard, and as Loki was constantly reminding him he _was_ the rightful king now, Heimdall could not act against his orders. Loki had been quick to swear him to secrecy about his identity and sometimes when he couldn't sleep he passed the time until the early morning hours giving new commands to Heimdall to ensure he didn't find a loophole and reveal Loki's identity to Thor. A loophole he had no doubt been searching for ever since Loki ascended to the throne.

For now it seemed the gatekeeper was reduced to a subtle but biting sarcasm to express his displeasure.

"Why yes, how ever did you guess?" Loki snapped back. He looked like himself, having let his Odin disguise fall the moment he was alone with Heimdall. Heimdall looked slightly surprised to see the young god without his disguise. Usually he kept it up for appearance's sake and as a constant reminder that he was in charge. Today though, Loki saw no point in their little game. The gatekeeper saw everything, after all, and why use up his strength on a pointless charade?

"Where to then, King Laufeyson?"

Loki ground his teeth and considered banning Heimdall from speaking at all. He had tried his best to be patient with the man in hopes that one day he might be a more willing ally, but patience was not something Loki possessed an overabundance of.

"Where is my brother?" He asked, peering out into the great swirling vortex of space. Despite his silver tongue he still found himself slipping up constantly when it came to Thor. He couldn't seem to convince his subconscious that they were not related.

If Heimdall noticed the mistake, he chose not to comment on it.

"Thor is currently with Jane Foster," Heimdall answered, gazing out into space and seeing much more than Loki could. "It would appear they are on a tropical island indulging in what I believe the mortals would call a vacation."

Loki snorted. "He has all but abandoned his duties."

"You are complaining?" Heimdall looked at him and Loki frowned back.

"I am not. It is much easier this way. I only think it serves as a good reminder why Thor would never be a good king." He was grumbling more to himself than Heimdall but to his surprise and slight annoyance Heimdall chuckled.

"Thor has fallen in love, my king. Perhaps you too will find love one day also."

Loki felt his face redden.

"I would not get my hopes up," he snapped. "Enough of this pointless banter. Where are the Avengers?"

Heimdall studied him for a long moment before replying. "Where they usually are, at Stark Tower on Midgard."

"Then that is where I need to go," Loki replied. "Send me to Stark Tower. Only not too close. I need time to prepare a proper disguise before approaching. I do not fancy having my eye shot out by one of the Hawk's arrows."

Heimdall looked troubled. "You wish to battle the Avengers again so soon? Do you think that is wise, my King?"

"I did not wish to battle them," Loki answered crossly. "I wish...to seek their assistance. You said yourself you cannot see who or what is causing this plague that is taking more and more of my best warriors. I do not imagine it will be long before it spreads to the people of Asgard."

Heimdall looked troubled. "An honorable quest then. I fear though we may be too late. If we face a threat that even my sight cannot see, the enemy may be at our gates already."

"Thank you for the pep talk," Loki answered, rolling his eyes. "Now can we get on with this?"

"As you wish."

In a flash of light, Heimdall activated the bifrost bridge as he had down countless times before. Loki vanished and found himself flying through space at an impossible speed, heading for Midgard. As Tony Stark's tower, apparently the current location of the Avengers, began to materialize in the distance Loki couldn't help but think that Heimdall was right about one thing.

The enemy certainly was at the gates.


End file.
